


Trickster's Luck

by Balrog_Roike



Category: Thor (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men: First Class - Fandom, X-Men: Last Stand
Genre: BAMF Loki, Gen, Letters, Loki Gets a Hug, Loki Needs a Hug, Loki does nothing halfway, Magic, naturally it backfires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 06:30:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11708778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Balrog_Roike/pseuds/Balrog_Roike
Summary: If there ever was a patron god of mutantkind it should have been Loki Silvertongue, Loki of the Thousand Shapes, Loki the Monster.And so, one fine evening only weeks after Cuba, Charles Xavier plays host to the most remarkable being he will ever come across.Feeling a certain kinship to Midgard's newest inhabitants, Loki offers the young Professor X an invaluable boon.It's only decades later that Loki truly understands just how alike his fate and mutantkind's really are...





	1. A Trickster's Luck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set a few weeks after X-Men: First Class.
> 
> Betaed by Skywinder.

To expect the unexpected, Charles Xavier mused, was far easier said than done.

But then again, if the man -god?- in front of him truly was who he claimed to be, the newly dubbed Professor X had never stood a chance.

Still, it was disquieting to not be the trickster, the man in charge for once, the power who could just stop everyone around him and arrange things how he saw fit. His whole life, he had solved every problem thrown at him with a cheeky smile and a quick mental command – but now, after the most horrible and exhilarating few weeks of his life, he slowly came to understand that this solution to every bad thing happening to him would no longer be an option.

And, if he was honest to himself, he didn’t even want it to be any longer.

As terrible as those weeks had been, the experience had also humbled him, forcing him to grow up from an idealistic but thoughtless young man jumping at the chance to do something fun and meaningful for the world ( _Saving the world, one pretty mutant girl at the time… How foolish he had been, how young._ ) to a rather helpless and overwhelmed feeling, but hopeful leader of a steadily growing group of mutants out to make peace with the world.

His enthusiasm was still strong, he still believed that one day humans and mutants could live peacefully together, but he had been to reckless and arrogant in thinking that he and his fellow mutants would just reveal themselves to the world and be welcomed  - _worshipped_ , a nasty little voice inside his head whispered. He had expected to be worshipped, young, big-headed fool that he was. He had thought that he _deserved_ it, just for what he was, feeling all superior when he was just as human as anybody else in the end. – had been tempered by a heavy dose of painful reality.

His injury certainly helped in putting things into perspective as well.

It was hard to think of yourself – even if only unconsciously – as a god among men if you couldn’t even stand up on your own…

 

Which brought him back to the present and the strange young man that had melted unexpectedly out of the shadows of his office just a few seconds ago, introducing himself as Loki, God of Mischief, and revealing to the startled Charles that he had just pulled his own trick on him: Charles Francis Xavier, master of the mind, “frozen in time” for as long as this conversation would last.

To expect the unexpected, indeed…

 

Loki, as he called himself, was a slender and tall young man with pale skin and swept-back, pitch-black hair. He was dressed in an impeccable grey suit and sat in the heavy armchair in front of Charles’ desk as if he belonged there.

He looked strangely normal for all that he claimed to be an actual god.  Like the well-groomed son of a rich house, handsome and sophisticated, yes, but normal – if it weren’t for his eyes, a bright, brilliant green that seemed to shine with an inner light in the twilight the approaching night brought into the office.

Charles was pretty sure that the genes that enabled a being to have those kind of eyes couldn’t be found anywhere in the human gene pool.

Also, something that seemed to happen increasingly often lately, Charles couldn’t read his mind.  
At all.

A dark eyebrow arched up elegantly and Loki(?) tilted his head slightly to the left, in a remarkably human gesture of impatience. “Well? Are you going to stare all night or can we get down to business? I always thought you mortals valued your short life-span too much to waste it but if you wish to spend the rest of your days marveling at my existence, I could always submit my offer to your successor.”

Apparently gods not only looked normal, they were snarky, too.

 _If_ Loki was a god, something Charles still wasn’t sure of.

Anyway, the being in front of him was right, he was staring and that just wouldn’t do.

“Please excuse my rudeness, I must seem like a very bad host to you, not even offering you a drink… It’s just that I have never had a god sitting in my office before.” Charles wheeled himself to the cabinet that held his liquors, his eyes never once leaving the stranger even while he fumbled first with the glass-doors, then with the bottles and glasses, still unused to his new position far closer to the floor and his loss of maneuverability.

Loki folded his long, pale fingers in his lap and watched him intently. “In your own interest you should pray that it stays this way, Charles Francis Xavier. Your life will be easier that way, believe me.”

He didn’t offer to help, something Charles was grateful for. He had to learn to do this on his own rather sooner than later and while the concern of his team was touching, it had also become quite exhausting by now.

“Pray to whom?” he quipped, finally returning to the desk, bottles and glasses balanced on his knees.

Loki smirked, looking at him appraisingly and accepting a glass of scotch. “Good question. I see you are an intelligent man, Charles Francis Xavier.”

“Only Charles will do.” The Professor poured himself a glass of his own and took a sip of his drink.

“So… You said that you are Loki, the Norse God of Mischief? Please forgive me my doubts, but I just met a mutant who had named himself after the angel of death a few weeks ago and he looked a tad bit more convincing than you do.”

That smirk again, the barely there upturning of the corners of “Loki’s” thin lips that seemed to change his whole face from something innocent and open into something strangely sinister.

“If you want me to look the part I will gladly indulge you. Armor, helmet, cape – nothing I cannot easily transform out of these clothes. In fact, I transformed even those things into the suit you actually see me in right this very moment. But if you know of me you should be aware that I prefer subtlety over posturing any day. So what can I do to convince you of my truthfulness, Charles, tell me.”

“Speaking about truthfulness already disproves your claim, does it not?”

He just couldn’t resist.  
Charles knew that the being in front of him had to be powerful, even if he wasn’t a god – and yet he couldn’t stop himself. Something about those sparkling green eyes and the small, almost unnoticeable smirk _dared_ him to speak his mind openly and brought out the cheek that had been buried since Erik’s fateful decision all those weeks ago.

For one moment Loki simply stared and even without his telepathy Charles could see gears turning behind the suddenly so icy eyes that bore into him like winter’s first frost, chilling him to the bone.  Calculating, assessing, searching for hidden malice and meaning in words lightly spoken in jest.

Then suddenly it was over and the young man in front of him threw back his head and laughed, taking the joke as it was intended, acting as if he had never needed to weight words and intentions carefully against each other – and it was _magical_ …

The twilight of the office seemed to light up at the musical sound, the last traces of the setting sun on the other side of the window shining brighter than ever, painting the sky in warm gold, vibrant red, glowing purple and velvety blue in turn.  The scotch in bottle and glasses seemed to sparkle, tiny pinpricks of light floating upwards through the amber liquid and spreading through the room, leaving a scent like the mixture of bright summer days and hot chocolate in its wake.

Charles found laughter bubbling up his own chest and before he knew it he joined the man sitting in front of him, reveling in the joy he suddenly felt, in the cold feel of the handlebars of his wheelchair, the softness of his clothes, the warmth of the air around him and the rich sound of Loki’s laughter.

Never before he had felt so alive.

 

“You give far too much credit to the stories”, the supposed god said when he finally stopped chuckling and the world had faded back to its normal, now strangely _lacking_ appearance. “Words written by half-mad mortals who only knew part of certain events and spun their own tales from them, each generation adding their own individual touch. I assure you that most of what you find written is not true and I admit freely that I did not even read half of it. I was afraid I would hurt myself laughing.”

Loki smiled openly, the expression glowing on his pale face and his eyes the color of sun-kissed leaves in spring. “Also I was not certain if I would ever be able to look at my fellow Aesir again without, as you mortals put it, ‘cracking up’.”

He smiled even wider and Charles felt himself smiling in return.

“But now back to our problem at hand. How can I convince you that I am who I claim to be?”

Charles hesitated for a moment, feeling as if he was about to suggest something strangely _taboo_ now that he had finally found somebody  who could actually keep the young telepath out of his mind without any assistance. For someone who was so used to wander through the consciousnesses around him and read their most secrets thoughts if he just strayed one step from his mental/moral “path”, the existence of something closed to him, something private seemed almost sacred.

And yet, he had no choice if he ever wanted to trust the being in front of him. Perhaps, if Charles had been another man, another mutant, he would have found another way…

But he was far too used to being a telepath, to knowing _everything_ about the people surrounding him, that he had forgotten how to simply _grant_ his trust a long time ago. Perhaps he could relearn it in time, but not now, not when his wounds were still raw and aching.

“Let me in.”

The young man in front of him blinked, dark lashes concealing eyes as deep and green as the sea, than he gave a tiny nod – and Charles gasped as he was pulled into a mind so unlike any other he had ever encountered before.

 

It was like falling into space, lost and without direction in an endless ocean of stars, of little lights passing by, being born and burning out of existence in the blink of an eye, countless colors fading in and out of existence, merging, separating, clashing, changing, dancing, singing, screaming, crying, laughing, _being…_

“Too much… _Please!”_ Charles didn’t know if he sobbed these words out aloud or only in his head, didn’t know if he was still sitting calmly in his office or drowning in fire and ice and too much space filled with too many things – but suddenly he could breathe again and found himself in complete darkness, surrounded by nothing but his own thoughts.

“What do you wish to see?”

There were no doors that opened in front of him, no directions at all, but somehow Charles suddenly knew where to go, what to do, how to access only the memories he wished to look at and to keep himself from either burning alive by the intensity of the emotions his _host_ felt or being ripped apart by the constant turmoil of thoughts that swept through that foreign mind like an endless storm.

And over all, there was an awareness that watched him, watched his every step like a hawk, like a predator, daring him to do _anything_  Loki had not agreed to and to face the consequences…

Charles took a deep breath – or whatever amounted to a breath in the mindscape – and plunged headfirst into the memories that opened up before him.

And there were a lot of those.  
Loki – and he really was Loki, perhaps not a god, but something close, at least to those humans who had once come in contact with the Aesir and heard the stories of Odin’s little sons told by laughing warriors around the fireplace – was old, and he remembered every single moment of his life with a clarity that left Charles slightly envious. He remembered the first smile on his mother’s face, the different smells of countless Asgardian summers, how his brother’s voice changed over the years from the cute squeak of a child to the deep bellow of a warrior, how his father’s wrinkles seemed to deepen and yet his one eye stayed young and as clear as the blue sky above, how magic danced and sang under his skin, how it breathed with him and painted the universe in colors no other could see…

But he also remembered every insult thrown his way, all the subtle signs on people’s faces when their gaze shifted from his brother Thor to him, the shadows shielding him from sight while he listened to the hurtful words spoken where they thought he couldn’t hear them, the way his father never seemed to see him, the thousands nuances in a voice that separated an encouraging word from a veiled threat, gold turning to black and the screaming that followed, pain and desperation and hope and all those attempts to do better, to be one of them…

And there, hidden away behind the memory of two little boys, one bright as the day and one dark as the night, laughing on the back of an eight-legged stallion while their father lead the horse around, smiling at them both as if they were the most precious thing on the world for him – there lurked the faint remembrance of cold and darkness, of isolation and loneliness, and red, red eyes that caused Loki to throw the young professor out of his mind as if his life depended on it.

 

And from one moment to the other, Charles found himself sitting in his office again, looking at the young man in front of him that seemed as calm as a glacier while his mind worked as furious as a storm, creating and discarding possible scenarios of this conversation at the speed of light, planning and plotting and feeling thousand things at once, just because he could, gifted and cursed at once.

And now Charles Francis Xavier understood.

He understood why Loki was here, why he had searched for an insult in a simple joke, why he had laughed so loud and freely when for once he had found none (And, oh, how long it had been since the last time Loki had the opportunity to really laugh, to hear words not tainted by mockery, distrust, patronizing or the poor attempt of cheering him up. How long – and was there anything sadder than a trickster god bereaved of laughter?), why he felt such a kinship to the mutants of this world, why he wanted so badly to share the burden he had borne for so long on his own, why he wanted to give them an edge, to give them hope for all the hardships to come…

 

“You want to offer us protection.”

Loki nodded, a faint non-smile on his lips, a polite mask for business situations and court gathering that seemed far too comfortable on the pale features, as if there were days on end they knew no other facial expression. Long, slender fingers found the glass of scotch again and twirled the amber liquid around with a languid motion.

“Yes. And no. A spell… a _powerful_ spell engraved on the keystone of this building, bound with blood and magic to the ideals you and your charges represent. That is what I offer, not more, not less.” Deep green eyes followed the movement of the scotch for a moment longer, and then Loki gazed directly in the eyes of the young human before him, shedding his mask for pure honesty.  

“I cannot and will not promise to keep you and your team from harm; in fact I am certain that you will have to deal with a fair lot of death and suffering over the years. The way you have chosen is not the easiest one, nor will you face a lot of encouragement or understanding for your choices... But as long as you keep trying to find acceptance, to find a place among the normal humans, by their side and not beneath or above them, but as _equals_ …  As long as you fight for these things, I _will_ promise you that your ideals will never die. You will lose some battles and win some, you will cry tears of sadness and joy over the fates of your friends and all those souls you never got to know. You will despair and find new hope, but as long as you stay on this path you have chosen, there will always be a future for you and those who will follow in your steps.”

Eyes like rain over green hills held Charles’ own and a sad smile played over the thin lips. “I know it does not seem like a lot. I know you would give anything for me to offer you more… But that is all I can give you. The assurance of ‘if not today, then another time’. As long as you never give up your ideals.”

The corners of Loki’s mouth twitched upwards for a second, “Or I could give you back the use of your legs, if you would like a more tangible result than a promise as fragile as a snowflake.”

Charles glanced down, at the useless appendages preventing him of ever believing himself a god among men again. Then he looked up and smiled.

“I’ll take a Trickster’s luck, thank you. I trust my team, now and in the future. We will never lose our path and stand steadfast to our ideals. Knowing that there will be always one of us remaining to try another day is far more worth to me than running around on my own two legs again, regardless how much I miss jogging.”

“Are you certain? They are still children, after all.”

 _’So are you.’_  Charles couldn’t help but think, but he only nodded, knowing he had made the right decision.

Loki held his eyes a little while longer, searching for doubts or uncertainty but not finding any. Then he smiled his glowing smile again, filling the room with life and laughter and the memories of better days, when Raven and Erik had still been with Charles and everything had seemed so easy…

And then he was gone.

 

Charles Francis Xavier gazed out of the window and watched as the twilight faded into the night, thinking about his beloved ones close and far away and knowing that somewhere out there, there was at least one being just like him and his team.

And he wished him the best of luck.


	2. Interlude: To whom it may concern

_To whom it may concern,_

_If you are reading this, my dear successor, it means that I, Charles Francis Xavier, founder and headmaster of “Xaviers’ School for Gifted Children”, am no more. And while I would wish to be able to address you by name, we both know that in the war we daily fight in, survival is never guaranteed, at least not for the individual. So, while I hope that I did know you closely and had the chance as well as the pleasure to coach you and to gently ease you into the hard but also very rewarding work of leading this particular school as well as the X-Men, I am certain that even if I did not have such luck, you will doubtlessly do well. Because even if I am aware that I do not know every single student or former student of my school as well as I would have liked, I know that every single one of you has a good and brave heart, regardless how carefully you try to hide it sometimes, and that you will do your very best to lead your fellows and charges in these difficult times._

_But perhaps, my dear successor, this letter will help ease some of your worries._

_You may have already wondered why I have made certain that you receive this letter separately from my will and any other documents that by now should be in your care. You probably also wonder why I insisted that you read it alone instead of sharing it with your colleagues and friends who doubtlessly want nothing more than to ease your burden and to help you along._

_Fact is that right now, in the times I am actually writing this letter, I myself am uncertain how its contents would be received. The world at large is still struggling with the discovery of the genetic mutations that make us, me and all under my care, so special and at the same time so frightening to them._

_My charges are still young, still fragile, may it be physically or psychically, and each day we hear of new atrocities committed by both sides in a war that should have never been. And, despite their brave faces and courageous attitudes, I can see and sense them faltering. I know that they ask themselves if they have made the right choices, if they stand on the right side and if they will survive to see another day and if they do, if it will only be on the cost of another’s life, an enemy’s, an innocent’s – or a comrade’s._

_I fear that even if I tried to explain the intentions of the precious gift granted to us, they would not understand. They would ask for more and grow resentful of a being just like us, a being that wanted to help us keep our courage. I admit, that for a short time, I did ask myself the same questions and felt the same pain and anger as they would certainly do – but other than my charges I have had the privilege to delve into the mind of our unlikely ally and see not only his motivations for contacting me at all but also understand his reasoning for only granting us help – a help that we have to work our hardest to deserve, that is – instead of a short-cut like “protection from all harm” that may possibly even do us more bad than good in the long term. Because who would ever accept us as equals if we would be magically protected from injury and death instead of suffering and hurting just like all humans do?_

_But I see that I have gone too far ahead._

_I dearly hope that my explanations will make more sense to you, my dear successor, once you have read all about the events that transpired not so long ago, and that you will understand my reasoning for keeping quiet about the information I am about to share with you._

_Please, after reading this letter, think carefully if your comrades are ready for the revelation that not only other realms beside our own exist, but that there is also such a thing as “magic” and that our fate is not uniquely tied to our planet or our species alone._

_If you feel that they can handle the knowledge contained in this letter, then I encourage you to share it and let them rejoice at the news that hope will never be completely lost as long as they hold true to themselves. But if you feel that they would not understand, then I ask you to keep quiet until you think them ready to accept the truths written down here._

_By now I can almost imagine the annoyance you must feel at reading my ramblings, always hinting at hidden secrets, as well as your startled face at my mentions of magic, realms and other species._

_I assure you, not much longer now, my dear successor, just a few more lines about the interesting character you owe your gratitude for having to read these lines at all._

_Let me tell you about a man, pale-skinned and dark-haired, tall and slender, who can either let the world glow with his laughter or freeze your heart with his smile. Let me tell you about a younger brother, a shadow to golden light, never quite seen but dearly missed when absent, even if his peers do not recognize it yet. Let me tell you about a god of guarded smiles and contradictions, a god of outcasts, just as strong and fragile as we are. Let me tell you about a being who understands us better than he himself is aware right know._

_And while I pray that he will never realize just how alike we really are, something tells me that the day will come that he will return. And I dread this day, for his sake and ours._

_While writing these lines I have already decided to look out for him all my life and I ask you to do the same once I have passed._

_Do not make the fault of looking for the man I will describe later on, because he has many faces and other than Raven he is not limited to human appearances alone. Look out for his eyes instead, brilliant green eyes of the likes you have never seen before, changing color and intensity according to his moods and thoughts. Believe me, there is no mistaking those eyes, once you know to pay attention to them._

_Look out for him, for we outcasts have to stick together._

_And now, finally, we have reached the end of my ramblings and the beginning of my tale._

_So let me tell you about Loki, the Norse God of Mischief, and how he pulled my own trick on me…_


	3. A Trickster's Tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set some time after Thor and X-Men: The Last Stand.

He was Loki, God of Mischief, and naturally, when he had promised Charles Francis Xavier a spell of protection such a long time ago – or short time, at least for him – he hadn’t really stopped there. While there really was a beautifully intricate runic pattern woven around the keystone of the mansion, glowing faintly with silvery magic and the deep scarlet of fresh blood, one new layer added for each new soul finding shelter by those who followed Xavier’s ideals, the surrounding stones were filled with power as well. They held dozens of nasty surprises for every being of magic or foreign to Midgard that came near the X-Men’s home with ill intentions, in particular if they planned the theft of Loki’s gift to twist it for their own use. Because even if it may not seem much to most humans, especially spread over a group and firmly bound to a condition, there were many out there who would give quite a lot for a Trickster’s luck, as Xavier had put it.

They would steal the stone, force the runes groaning and screaming out of their patterns and into a mockery of their true purpose with their own name at the center, erasing any and all conditions, and claiming for themselves an eternal second chance.

Failure would lose its meaning, every defeat would merely be a setback and death a minor inconvenience until the spell found a way to trick the Norns’ watchful eyes and change fate so that its master could try yet again.

Not a nice image.

Loki knew that he would have been in deep trouble if his f… if _Odin_ would have ever found out about his little gift to the mortals, but Odin, like the rest of the nine realms, had never paid great attention to backwards little Midgard. Should Thor ever manage to find a way back that would certainly change, but by then the spell would be long gone and not one trace remaining.

At least that was the plan.

Unfortunately Loki’s measures to protect the keystone were truly the work of a master, if he may say so himself, and while he usually would be quite proud of his accomplishments, right now his foresight just served to piss him off. Apparently “Intent to Destroy” had been among the many things he had warded the keystone against, and instead of simply teleporting in and out or at least wandering in unnoticed as had been the original plan, he had been forced to fight his way across the front lawn in broad daylight, children screaming and running from him while he dodged and unraveled his own spells and curses.

He was Loki, God of Mischief – and naturally nothing went according to plan…

 

Even missing most of his memories, Logan had seen a lot of strange things in his life. Wonderful things, horrible things, things that made him wish for death finally to come and things that made him embrace life more than ever before.

And yet, he was fairly certain that he had never encountered something like this before.

The afternoon had started like any other, with the only exception that Ororo and Hank were away, on one of the many conferences trying to calm humanity’s nerves about the ever-present “danger” of mutants in their midst once again.

That left Logan as the only adult in the mansion, keeping watch over far too many kids, who naturally thought that it was a great idea to spent the day outside “exploring” their gifts a bit, and a handful of wannabe-adults, who had forgotten their responsibilities as “grown-ups” the moment some of their younger comrades had brought out the water-pistols.

Now it was an all-out war going on the front-lawn, with dozens of different camps trying to soak each other however they could, laughter and shrieking filling the whole property.

Logan had at first (half-heartedly) tried to stop it, grumbling and threatening and promising retribution for everyone who even thought about including him in their little mock-riot, but by now he was sitting on the front-step (Dripping wet but less bothered about it than he had thought he would be. Somehow, hearing the kids’ happy laughter after so many weeks of mourning and numbness after Alcatraz and Jean and Professor X and Scott and… _everything_ had made the minor discomfort worth it.), smoking a cigar and just keeping watch to make sure that nobody was badly hurt and that every bit of damage ended up more or less fixable in the end. Storm and Beast would understand – if not, at least it would teach them about leaving him in charge. He was no babysitter, no nice if a bit gruffly uncle, had never been and would never be. Period.

Logan watched lazily as a single snowball, courtesy of a commendable team-effort of Bobby and Piotr flew into the air, gaining more and more mass the higher it got, until it was directly above their main antagonists in the “battle”. There was shrieking and yelping as the children scrambled for cover, expecting a minor avalanche to hit them anytime now – but it never came.

Instead the snowball suddenly hit something invisible with a resounding _FLATSH!_ and stuck to it.

Normal children and perhaps even adults wouldn’t have noticed or if they did, they would have stopped and stared, dumbfounded. But the inhabitants of this particular mansion were anything but “normal” and so their first reaction was to seek shelter.

But even while they ran for the mansion, following plans for such situations that had been drilled in their heads by endless repetition, they were too slow to avoid the first wave of attack.

The snowball still stuck to something right above their head, making the slightest curve of the surface just barely visible. Suddenly small bits of the snow began to fall off and a faint whirring seemed to permeate the air, increasing in frequency and volume until it resembled a high shriek that caused more than one student to scream and to clutch their heads and ears in pain, or their jaws, where it sent their fillings rattling.

Logan was on his knees, roaring like a beast while his metallic bones seemed to vibrate right through his flesh, his eardrums bursting and healing over and over – and then something bright red and _melting_ hit the thing above their heads, making it flash in a myriads of colors, streaming sizzling over something that was suddenly very visible and very obviously a shield of some sorts, a shield that was humming angrily while liquid the color of Cyclops’ lasers tried to find a way in, searching for cracks or tiny faults it could exploit and force its way through.

The liquid found none, the shield, as large as the whole property and now glowing in a soft, reassuring, translucent blue, held and the strange energy slowly slid down, dissipating along the way.

And on the other side of the protective field a man appeared out of thin air.

For a moment, every occupant of Xavier’s School for Gifted Children thought that Magneto had returned, then the glow of the shield lessened a little bit and the view became clearer.

The stranger wore a cape and a helmet, like the Master of Magnetism had done, but instead of the usual dark red and purple hues, his clothing was colored in green, dark brown and a pale, deceptively soft looking gold. He was lean and tall, the high, curved horns of his helmet adding to his height and intimidation factor, and he was wearing something that was obviously armor, even if it did look nothing like what the knights of the Middle Ages had donned.

He stared down at the barrier and the recovering students for one moment, then he held out a hand and the same, bright scarlet began to build around his fingers once more, sneaking up his arm like a living thing, coiling and sliding around the long fingers, searching for something to consume.

The air seemed to scream again, shrieking high and tortured when the man leaned back to throw, the mutants below him answering with their own cries of pain.

Then red exploded over the shield once again, licking at the surface and searching, testing, hunting for a way in.

Once again, after a breathless, horrible moment, it found nothing and vanished.

But the soft blue it left behind glowed just a little bit weaker – and the man, so far away that only Logan could clearly see it, smirked.

“INSIDE! NOW!” Wolverine bellowed. He fought his way to his feet and forced the sobbing Rogue up beside him. He could feel the vibrating start yet again, the sign of another attack brewing far above them, and he knew that it was only a matter of minutes until whatever it was that shielded them gave out and their enemy would be upon them.

He actually doubted that the mansion stood any chance against the liquid power, but perhaps the underground base would keep the kids safe even when the upper levels burned and the stranger would be fooled into believing his victims dead.

But for this to work the kids had to actually _be_ inside the building to begin with.

And they didn’t have the time.

The mutants barely managed to get farther than a few feet, then the next attack forced them to their knees – but this time the attack didn’t seem to end and soon a sickly purplish light began to light up the lawn. Logan clenched his teeth and forced himself to ignore his pain and to turn over, so that he could see what was happening.

This time, the man hadn’t contented himself with throwing his little ball of doom but had apparently followed it down to the barrier, to give it more juice. He hovered inches from the shield, his hands firmly pressed against the glittering surface, tendrils of red light curling around his arms up to his shoulders, his liquid attack spreading and slowly but surely _sinking_ into the blue, marring it with ugly dark veins. Logan could clearly see the stranger’s face now, pale and white even when it should be awash in bright scarlet or at least the sickly purple of the dying barrier, eyes too wide and bright to be completely sane, thin lips constantly moving and whispering inaudible words, not faltering once, even when the combined power of the shield and the attack began to burn his hands, thin wisps of smoke curling in the air.

And then, a crackling sounding over the screaming and crying of air and children alike – and the shield burst into billions of pieces, not one reaching the ground before vanishing.

The man didn’t even pause to acknowledge his success. Too bright, too green eyes in a too pale, too youthful face for a madman drifted curiously over the mutant children in front of him, and then focused on the mansion in the distance. He floated closer – and suddenly in the air in front of him a sign appeared, bright yellow lines in a shape Logan had never seen before. They both had only a second to stare at it in confusion, then it exploded in flashing light and heat, throwing the armored stranger back and out of Logan’s sight.

Logan blinked.

Then he shook himself out of his stupor. “What are you still waiting for? A formal invitation? Get moving!”

While he watched with one eye how the kids stumbled up to their feet and in the general direction of the school, his other senses were fully focused on the direction the armored man had been thrown into. He would be back, that he was sure of.

And he was right. Barely a minute later, the students still not all safe behind the walls of the mansion, the man reappeared again, this time on his own two feet, his cape billowing behind him, and obviously pissed off beyond reason.

Logan could smell the sharp scent of ozone in the air and he could see something resembling heat waves forming around the stranger’s hands, if heat waves would be colored a bright poisonous green. Fortunately somebody or something was still firmly on their side.

The moment the armored man’s feet touched the grass, faint lines in a multitude of colors began to appear all over the lawn, some written in the air, others burning their way through earth and plants alike. Apparently the time for warning shots was over. Whatever helped them was obviously ready to get serious now, if the angry buzzing of power was any indication.

Logan decided that getting the kids _finally_ to safety was far more important than watching the ensuing lightshow. In the following chaos of herding screaming, crying and weeping children and teens into the mansion and down into the basement, he only caught glimpses of the battle going on outside. There were explosions bright enough to wake the memories of wars he had long since forgotten, things disintegrating, changing, morphing, turning alive and attacking each other, trees trying to ensnare the limbs of their attacker and crushing him in their unrelenting embrace, while expressionless statues tried to uproot them or to rip them out completely.

The grass burned, the stones surrounding the fountain burned, the _water_ burned, and smoke billowed about the lawn and left strange, otherworldly scents in the air.

Deep trenches appeared where attacks of both sides had missed or been deflected, a forgotten backpack slowly turned into a puddle of slime, some books had sprouted legs and wandered aimlessly about, the laws of physics had been bent and broken so often in the course of the last twenty minutes that they had apparently packed their bags altogether and decided to go on a vacation until this madness was over…

 

In the end, it was the stranger who prevailed.

The kids finally safe (apart from a few stubborn students, Rogue among them, who insisted on staying but at least had the common sense to hide inside the mansion and to watch the proceedings through the windows), Logan took a deep breath, unsheathed his claws and turned to face their attacker. Soft but determined steps behind him told him that his team, Bobby, Kitty and Piotr had stayed to fight their foe as well. He could smell their fear, they were downright terrified, but a quick glance showed him determinedly squared shoulders and brave faces. Their too wide eyes and trembling limbs gave their panic away, but it didn’t matter, they were ready to fight to the death to protect their friends and fellow students.

Logan was proud of them and he hoped that they would survive this so that he could tell them.

The man, dirty, disheveled and coughing after almost being choked to death by something that had looked like a fine, silvery rope, had moved like living snakes and burned through his clothes and flesh like acid, seemed to be equal parts amused and irritated at their opposition.

His armor was dented by now and blood seeped from countless minor scrapes and scratches as well as some more serious injuries. Streaks of dirt and soot as well as slowly appearing bruises marred his pale face, and a steady stream of red (Logan was almost sure this particular injury had already existed before the fight) seeped out from under the helmet and down the left side of the man’s face.

But for all the pallor of his skin and his heavy breathing and coughing, the stranger’s brilliant green eyes still burned brightly and Logan could see no sweat to give him a clue just how exhausted their attacker truly was.

When the wind turned – the long, slightly burned cape hugging the stranger like a pair of deep green wings – it brought no scent of sweat either.

In fact, the man did not seem to have a scent at all.

Logan sniffed once again, just to make sure, sorting through the smells he associated with home, the stinging stenches whatever just had happened had left behind and then, oh so carefully, through the various odors that clung to the person in front of him.

He smelled the leather and metal of the stranger’s clothes easily enough (and even if that armor was nothing like the tin cans the knights of the Middle Ages had worn, it obviously served its purpose, quite admirably so), he also caught a whiff of something that reminded him of blood but with a base-scent that was completely foreign, and there were also several faint traces left over from wherever the man had been before suddenly appearing on their front lawn (trees, flowers and stone, food, alcohol of some kind he had never encountered before, blood again, the salty tang of the sea…) – but the really important scent, the scent unique to this tall, lean man he couldn’t smell at all.

Just something vague, like freshly fallen snow…

The man straightened, finally over his coughing fit, and made a show of relaxing his pose, while in truth he just shifted into a more hidden, battle-ready stance only another experienced fighter would recognize. He smiled, charmingly so, if you disregarded the fact that the smile never reached his bottle-green, fathomless eyes, and held up his hands, showing them that he had no weapons.

Logan snorted, yeah, right, as if he even _needed_ weapons to send them all to hell.

“Look, my dear friends, I do not want to fight you. I have no quarrel with you and this endeavor is already taking me longer than I first expected.”

The voice that would have normally sounded soft and smooth was rough and scratchy now but still possessed a distinct persuasive quality. Logan could sense the other three behind him relaxing just the tiniest bit. That would not do.

“Pretty words… Then why did you attack us in the first place?” Logan growled, taking a threatening step forward.

The stranger’s smile widened and he slightly cocked his head to the side, opening his arms wide. “As you may remember, I did not attack you at all. I am merely here to retrieve something that resides inside your school.” He shrugged, his face turning rueful. “If everything had gone according to plan, you would not even have noticed me being here. I would have taken what I have come for and you would have never been bothered by my presence. Unfortunately, things became complicated once I entered the property and my options became somewhat limited, leading to this unfortunate misunderstanding…”

A slow smile again, showing far too many teeth to be reassuring, the mask cracking. “So if you will just let me retrieve my trinket, I will leave in peace and never bother you again. Nobody needs to get hurt and we all can put this little misunderstanding behind us, to never be thought of again. So… may I pass?”

For a moment Wolverine was tempted.

If the stranger told the truth and Logan agreed, the students would be safe and the whole ordeal would be over in a matter of minutes.  They would still need to repair the damage the “complications” had caused, of course, but once the last traces would be gotten rid of, he could forget this day and pretend it had never happened.

But naturally things couldn’t be so easy and three things spoke against taking the armored man up on his offer. For one, Logan could not say if he lied about his intentions or not. Usually his senses and instincts told him if a person was truthful or not, catching the slightest shift of scent, the slightest twitch or tell that showed if somebody was truthful or not. This man showed no nervousness that indicated a liar fearing to be caught and his scent was still indecipherable for Logan. But at the same time his instincts were screaming at him that something was wrong, that even if the stranger told the truth, he was also withholding information and could not be trusted. It was maddening and deeply unsettling and worrying, especially if coupled with the man’s abilities.

Logan had never seen anything like what had happened before, he was certain, and he had seen a lot of mutations in his life and had heard about even more. Just minutes ago, he had witnessed reality being broken countless times with merely the twist of a hand and some whispered words, and by now he was pretty sure that this man was not even human. And _that_ would open a whole new can of worms that Logan did not even want to consider.

And then, there was reason number three…

“Sorry, but we can’t do that. Somebody obviously went to great lengths to protect whatever is hidden inside our school.  And you seem pretty desperate to get it. To me that means that you probably shouldn’t get your hands on it, especially if we don’t know just what you can and will do with it once you have it.”

Surprisingly it wasn’t Logan who called their unwanted guest out on his bullshit but Bobby, who had apparently worked on conquering his fear in the last few minutes and stood now firm and determined, his trembling subsided to a barely noticeable twitching of his fingertips.

Beside him, Piotr nodded and shifted into his metallic shape, ready to defend the school with all he got and Kitty, while still shaking and biting her lip, seemed willing to fight as well.

Logan was really, really proud of them.

Their opponent, on the other hand, was far from impressed and showed the first real emotions in the whole conversation: Frustration, irritation and annoyance.

“You do not even know what you are speaking of! The trinket is harmless, useless even in most hands. It cannot be used as a weapon and is no threat to you or others. And those traps – “ He made a wide, sweeping motion with one arm, encompassing the whole property (And were the lines in the grass that marked the – he had called it traps – slowly reappearing? If so, then if they could keep tall, pale and obviously _very_ desperate to get that “trinket” busy for long enough, their problem would be taken care of without them actually doing anything. Hopefully the kids saw it too.), “were meant for everyone, not just me.”

“And yet, they never harmed us and we live here.” Bobby apparently drew courage from the slip ups of the stranger. He lifted his chin a bit and took a step forward.

The man laughed at that.

It wasn’t a nice laugh, just a sharp bellow without any mirth, followed by the grimace of one who feared that he had just given something very important away.

In a flash, the pale face in front of them was blank again, but Logan wasn’t fooled.

He doubted that the kids had caught on to the unspoken message, to do so took experience they just didn’t have yet, but he could clearly hear the unspoken _‘Why should they?’_ in this sudden outbreak.

“Bobby? Kitty? Piotr?” The teens straightened when he used their actual given names instead of calling them whatever nickname he had come up with over the time he had known them.

“Whatever happens, you will not let him get to whatever is hidden in the school!”

Logan let his claws catch the light and hunkered down, getting ready to jump and fight the stranger in earnest now. He glared at the man in green and gold and bared his teeth in challenge. “Because whatever it is, it is either something meant for us or entrusted to us, and I’ve got the feeling that things will only get worse should we lose it here and now.”

The stranger smirked, a nasty grin that showed just as many teeth as Logan did, and for one moment Wolverine couldn’t help but wonder if the man in front of him was just as much a predator as he himself was, then he lifted his hands, green sparks glittering in his palms that rapidly grew into emerald flames ready to consume anything in their way.  “My, you are a clever one, are you not?”

“Come here and find out, bucket head!”

Logan saw the manic, almost insane glint in the poisonous green eyes before him, he smelt the ozone of whatever attack his opponent readied, he could hear the kids behind him holding their breath in anticipation of the start of the fight, the shouts and sobs of their students watching them from the windows – and he could feel the icy gust of wind that was the only warning every single one of them got before the sky darkened abruptly, lightening arched high above their heads and loud, rolling thunder rumbled over, around and though them, resonating deep inside their chests and filling most of them with new hope.

And one with more than just simple dread.

Logan could hear first shrieks, then cheers from the school and he knew from the gasps and one very foul Russian curse behind him that his team had been surprised by the sudden arriving of the storm, but still, it was nothing in comparison to their enemy’s reaction.

The armored man had jumped over a foot in the air at the first sound of thunder and had turned even paler if that was even possible, his eyes a faint, almost translucent mint-green in a snow-white face. His flames disappeared even before the first drop of rain touched the ground, as if frightened away by the bright lightening dancing freely on the canvas of the dark, heavy clouds.

Logan had never before seen such a tall man hunch to such a small shape.

Just as he got ready to use his chance and tackle the intruder, Bobby unfortunately decided to open his mouth again, feeling new bravado at the unexpected sight of their cowering enemy.

“What’s the matter? Are you afraid of a little bit of thunder? Or are you going to melt in the rain, you _monster_?”

It was only Bobby’s specific mutation that saved him.

Had it been anybody else, they would have been dead when green eyes flashed in an insane rage and hate and suddenly darkened to a smoldering crimson set in deep blue flesh, when a hand, no, a _claw_ was thrust out and a wave of _ice_ burst out of the palm, racing above the grass, the ground, swallowing Bobby whole and covering the whole damn fountain in a white so stark it was almost painful to look at.

The sudden attack left devastation in its wake, the lawn in between the man(?) and Bobby filled with tiny, deadly spikes that refused to break under Logan’s heavy steps when he raced to Bobby’s side, biting through his shoes and into his flesh instead, drawing hot blood that froze the second it touched the ground. The stones surrounding the fountain groaned as if in great pain, cracking and breaking under the strain of such an abrupt change of temperature and the deeply frozen water they should contain pushing out, out, out now that it was frozen more solid than it should be possible on this planet.

 **“Bobby!”** Later on, Logan would never be able to say just who had all screamed in desperation, he only knew that he had seen Rogue struggling against hands holding her back while he hunched down next to an iceblock that had once been Bobby Drake.

An iceblock, that slowly but surely began to move, human features melting out of the uneven ridges and planes until Bobby, still in his ice-shape and obviously shaken to the bone, but alive and well, climbed back to his feet with Piotr’s help.

Logan audibly breathed a sigh of relief – only to hold his breath again just a moment later, when a heart-wrenching, pain-filled whimper reached his ears. It was an animal-sound, an instinctual whine remaining from the days when they had all still hunted for their food instead of buying it in the supermarket, serving no other purpose but to convey nothing but agony and despair to whomever was there to hear.

He was far too familiar with this particular noise, having heard it dozens of times on battlefields when the dying had no breath left to scream anymore or the horror of war just became too much for a soldier’s mind to endure any longer.

For one panic-filled moment Logan feared that he had been wrong, that Bobby hadn’t survived the attack unscathed, and that any moment now he would see the white, icy shape crumble, turning back into pink flesh and pain-filled eyes, already closer to death than to life and it **_wasn’t fair, damn it, not after Jean and the Professor and Scott and…_**

“He is like us…”

The soft voice, not much louder than a whisper, broke through Logan’s dark and fearful thoughts and kept him from actually starting to hyperventilate.

He started, looking around, found Piotr and Bobby thankfully still upright and not closer to death than just a moment before, and Kitty… Kitty, shy, sweet, little Kitty Pryde, the half-pint, as the only one who had kept her head and actually kept an eye on their enemy – Atta girl! – watching their opponent with a strange mix of fright, wonder and slowly growing sympathy.

“He is like us.” She repeated louder, her eyes widening as she took in the sight of the man(?)/creature staring horrified at its own hands, at the dark blue skin interrupted by slightly discolored ridges forming strange patterns now and then, the blackish nails/claws, the faint traces of frost still rising from their fingertips…

The dark red eyes seemed far too large, far too young now for the being that had threatened them mere moments ago, its face showing more raw, honest emotion than in the whole previous discussion. And it still whined, still whimpered, _‘Help me! Help me, I’m dying! I’m dying, if not in body than in mind and soul…’_

And suddenly it wasn’t half as scary anymore as before.

Because _this_ , as sad as it was, was something they all knew how to deal with.

 _This_ was something they had witnessed far too often before, whenever they found a new mutant whose parents had disowned them, or who had run away in fright, or had been unable to control their “gift” the first time if manifested itself, or, perhaps, whenever they found a new mutant, period.

_‘Please, help me! I’m dying! My world is ending and I’m dying! That wasn’t supposed to happen! Not to me! Not to me! Why is this happening to me? Why? Why? Why? Why me? Why now? My world is ending, please help me! Anyone!’_

Yes, they knew this.

Because they all had a memory hidden away deep inside, of the first time their mutation manifested and the overwhelming despair they had felt at that moment, regardless of what had actually happened afterwards. Even Logan could remember the faint scent of blood and a faint, familiar shadow telling him to run, of a promise that he would be taken care of, and more than anything else, the stifling terror at what he had _done_.

_‘Please, help me! My world is ending and I can’t start again! I don’t have the strength to start anew! Oh god, I’m dying and I don’t have the strength to go on!’_

And they all had found the strength to rebuild their life in the end, most of them with the help of Xavier and the people of this school who had lent them theirs, until they finally found their feet again and accepted that life would go on somehow, that it always did, and that not all was lost, regardless how bad the situation seemed.

They knew how to deal with this.

And even if the creature before them was strange and foreign and different from any mutant they had ever encountered before, the X-Men couldn’t help but relax their poses, their minds switching from attack and defend to soothe, comfort and contain any further damage in the matter of seconds. They were still cautious, too often a newly discovered mutant lashed out at anyone in their pain and desperation, but the being in front of them needed them, needed their help and they would be _damned_ if, after all the sacrifices of the recent past, they would not hold up Xavier’s ideals.

 

Logan wasn’t sure how long it took and he also couldn’t clearly say who of them had the most impact, if Kitty’s soft, gentle words, Bobby’s encouragement, Piotr’s steady presence or his own gruff attempts at comfort finally reached the being and calmed it down enough to manage to slip back into his appearance as a tall, too pale man again. Perhaps it was even Storm’s heartfelt concern or the Beast’s slightly fuzzy but very blue and very calm appearance that did the trick, when the two last X-Men finally appeared a few minutes into their attempt to talk the stranger down from his panic attack.

Regardless, in the end, their would-be-attacker changed from blue-and-scary to pink-and-scary again, the ice surrounding the fountain finally begun to melt and exhausted, muddy green eyes looked at Storm, unerringly identifying her as the one calling the shots, even if Logan and Beast must look much more intimidating in comparison.

‘He’s good at reading body language then,’ Logan concluded, still collecting info about their “guest” in case it got ugly once again or he should need it at a later date. He watched through narrowed eyes as the stranger tried to stand a little straighter and slip his pleasant but ultimately empty mask back over his features. He wasn’t successful, his emotions staying clearly written all over his too pale face.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Storm sounded remarkably calm considering that most of the front lawn still resembled a war zone. And that there were currently three books dancing around her feet like around a bonfire, singing with high, chiming voices in a language that nobody had ever heard before.

She had more experience with calming newly discovered mutants down than any of them, Logan gave her that, but still… she seemed strangely unaffected by the multiple violations of the laws of physics still happening in the background, especially in comparison to Hank, who couldn’t help but openly stare at some of the more absurd scenes. Instead she was focused fully on the man in front of her, sharp eyes taking in every little detail of his appearance, and Logan could almost see her coming to a conclusion about him. She _knew_ something (and there would be words later on about holding back important information about possible enemies and visitors from her head of security, Wolverine swore to himself).

The armored man smiled, or at least he tried to. He only managed a faint twitching of his thin lips, then his face refused to settle into the familiar mask again, and showed nothing but a soul-deep pain and exhaustion. To his credit, the stranger noticed his inability to fool anybody any longer and just sighed. “I just want to destroy the spell written on the keystone of this mansion, nothing more, nothing less. I have no strife with you nor do I seek trouble. In fact, like I mentioned before, I planned for you to never notice my coming and going.”

He sounded as tired as he looked, his voice scratchy and hoarse from the previous attempt to strangle him.

“Spell?” Hank managed to force his eyes away from the sight of two rose bushes trying to snatch some of the slowly returning birds out of the sky, apparently (at least if the feathers surrounding them were any indication) to stuff them into their beautiful, blood-red blossoms (Logan would never ever look at Ororo’s beloved garden quite the same way again and he would arm the next poor kid on watering duty with a flamethrower, just in case), while a third used to the remaining droplets of the short rain shower to clean itself in a rather… _suggestive_ manner.

The Beast raised on skeptical blue brow and begun in a rather doubtful voice, “Young man, I’ve dedicated my life to science since long before you’ve been born, and I assure you magic…”

He never finished his sentence, because the stranger made a noise that could have been a yelp but sounded actually more than a _laugh_ before he hurriedly clapped a hand on his mouth.

It only lasted a second, but in this short moment the raindrops on the grass seemed to light up with an inner sparkle that made them look like liquid diamonds, the wind turned sweet and fresh, bringing the scent of hearth fire and dark woods with it, and the whole world seemed to hold its breath and focus on a single figure clad in green and palest gold.

Logan blinked, his nose still filled with the memories of better times, and emerald eyes had darkened to an ash grey again and the world had lost its sudden luster.

“I know who you are”, Ororo’s voice was strangely sad, as if something had happened that she had hoped would never come to pass but dreaded all the same. Her dark eyes were full of pity and sympathy as they rested on the stranger’s face.

“Your Professor told you?” It was more a statement than a question but Ororo nodded anyway. “He had feared it would come to this one day.”

For a moment there was a storm brewing in those dark green eyes, the previous rage threatening to return – then green faded to ash grey again, and the stranger closed his eyes and hung his head.

“How blind must I have been to not see the truth all those years. How pathetic. If even a mere mortal could see that the joke is on me. Was always on me…”

He shook his head, a small, bitter smile on his lips, and opened his eyes again to look straight at Storm: “You will not let me take back what is mine, either, am I right?”

Ororo took a cautious step closer, her expression still sad but also determined. “No, Loki.”

The newly named Loki flinched as if struck.

Worried, Storm closed the last distance between them until she stood right at his side, one hand rising to touch his face. “Loki...?”

 Suddenly the man in front of her straightened to his full height and brought his face out of her reach with a move that reminded Logan of a startled horse. Green fire was back in his hands as well as his eyes, his expression haughty and demanding once more.

“As if I would need your permission…” he sneered. “I wound the spell, it is _mine_ and –“

A sharp slap echoed over the lawn and Logan could hear a faint awed “Ohh!” from the direction of the mansion and the hidden peanut gallery inside. He felt like “Ohh!” himself, but settled on admiring the dumbfounded look on Loki’s face instead, one cheek showing a faint reddish tint.

Storm lowered the hand she’d used to slap Loki with and looked at the young man with angry but calm eyes. “Are you quite finished?”

She didn’t wait for an answer and only made certain that she had Loki’s full attention by gripping his arms. “Loki! I am pretty sure that I know what has happened or at least part of it… and I feel with you, I really do. But stop behaving as if it’s the end of the world! It is **not**!”

Faint thunder could be heard in the distance and the sky darkened high above them.

Loki’s eyes became haunted and he shook his head, “You have no idea…”

“ **Yes! I do!** **We all do!** ” Storm made an all encompassing motion with one hand and the wind picked up in force. “We all were at this point, hopeless and lost and not knowing what we should and could do. But we all managed to find a way to live on and so will you!”

“You do not understand” Loki’s voice sounded more like a sob at this point and his pale green eyes had filled with tears. “I never had a chance. I tried and tried… but I never had a chance in the first place and they just did not care…”

“Oh Loki…” Anger had given way to sad understanding by now and Ororo reached up and pulled the crying man close. “None of us had a chance. We all were doomed from the start.” Logan could see for a moment the hollowness in her eyes and knew that she thought of her own beginnings as not-only-Ororo but Storm, and what it had meant for her life.

“But it is also a blessing and we have made the best of it in the end. We have made our own chance, and once we have done so, you have made sure that we will never lose this chance again. You have done so much for us, will you really take that all away?”

Loki let out a mix of a sob and a breathless little laugh, his head now completely hidden in Ororo’s shoulder. “You have no idea what I have done.”

There was worry in Storm’s eyes and Logan grimaced, reading the implications of the statement and coming to rather nasty conclusions. The more powerful a mutant was, the bigger a mess they left behind once they discovered their situation. And while Logan still wasn’t sure if that “Loki” really was human, he was pretty certain that that particular law applied to him as well.

This didn’t sound good at all.

Still, it was no use asking Loki now just what he had blown up upon discovering the truth, Ororo and Logan both knew this. So Storm just continued to rub comforting circles on Loki’s back and Wolverine sighed, motioned to Hank to help him and began to shoo the younger X-Men to the mansion to update the other kids on the changed situation.

“I don’t know what else you have done, Loki, but I know that you have given us hope. A fighting chance. A future.” Logan could still hear the sobs behind him as well as his team-mate’s soothing whispers. “Don’t take that from us. And don’t take that from you. Don’t give up! It’s not over yet.”

A murmur, too quiet for even the feral mutant’s ears to catch.

“No, it’s not! It may seem this way, but it is not, I promise, Loki. It will be okay…”

The rest of the conversation was lost to Logan, but he was pretty certain that he knew what would happen. The same that always happened.

Ororo would convince Loki to stay and the young man would fall into a bed, exhausted and finally, blessedly numb after the initial stages of discovery, shock, denial, rage and breakdown had passed. He would sleep like a log, his conscious trying to escape reality just a little bit longer, and Logan, probably with Hank’s help, would use the time to wring any piece of information about their strange newest – Student? Member? – out of Ororo.

And then, the next morning, it would time to face the truth, for both sides. Loki would have to face the truth that everything that had happened had not been a nightmare and Logan, Ororo and Hank would have to face whatever had sounded like a good idea at the time when Loki had been convinced that the universe hated him and he had hated it back for dealing him such a fate.

There would probably at least one other breakdown, perhaps two – but then Loki would slowly be able to heal, to get back up on his feet and to eventually look forward to an actual future again. He would be able to move on and life in the mansion would certainly become even more interesting with him around, that Logan was sure of.

“I will clean up the mess tomorrow, I’m good at that…” drifted with the wind from where Ororo and Loki still stood. The young man’s voice sounded still far too defeated for Logan’s liking, but if he wasn’t mistaken, there was the tiniest hint of wistful humor hidden in it.

A sudden idea hit the older mutant and he pause for a moment in his step, turning half around and throwing the tall, lean man behind him as well as the chaos he had caused a measuring look. (He distantly noticed that the colorful lines on the ground and in the air were fading again, and he suspected that to be a sure sign that they apparently would be stuck with Loki from now on.)Then Logan quirked his lips in a tiny smirk, lit himself a cigar and decided that it was definitely worth a try.

He would give his (apparently, but Logan was pretty sure he remembered him, even if not all those memories were good ones) old pal Fury a call and tell him that he would join his little “Avengers”-project – in another year or so. And maybe, just maybe, he would bring a friend…


End file.
